


Twelve Nights at Freddy's

by Chaotic Neutralist (abriefcandle)



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: (...are animatronics technically alive?), (sort of), Advanced Capitalism, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Tragedy, Assault, Character Death, Christmas, Christmas Caroling, Christmas Music, Closure, Crack and Angst, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Death Threats, Explicit Language, Gen, Gift Giving, Hazing, Implied/Referenced Murder, Injury, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Labor Rights Violations, Possessed Animatronics (Five Nights at Freddy's), Sentient Animatronics (Five Nights at Freddy's), Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24262201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abriefcandle/pseuds/Chaotic%20Neutralist
Summary: It's Christmas time, and Mike Schmidt is stuck working the night shift instead of being at home with his family, so, like any other curious night guard, he takes it upon himself to solve Freddy's mysteries. Meanwhile, the animatronics would rather focus on the holiday festivities, but that pesky night guard simply must go. Unfortunately, an old darkness arises...
Relationships: Bonnie & Mike Schmidt (Five Nights at Freddy's), Chica & Mike Schmidt (Five Nights at Freddy's), Foxy & Mike Schmidt (Five Nights at Freddy's), Freddy Fazbear & Mike Schmidt, Golden Freddy & Mike Schmidt (Five Nights at Freddy's), Springtrap & Mike Schmidt (Five Nights at Freddy's)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	1. Night One: The Naughty List

_On the first day of Christmas, my boss gave to me..._

Christmas at Freddy's is a very simple affair. The mechanics are forced to dress the animatronics in ugly sweaters, and the animatronics are forced to make sure someone loses a limb in the process. As per usual, Freddy has been granted a wispy beard and moth-eaten Santa hat tearing at the seams and is to be known as Santa Paws for the rest of the holiday season while Bonnie and Chica are dressed as elves with the ears and the bells and all of the accessories that come with the job.

The animatronics give out special treats and presents to the children during this time and everything is wonderful for everyone but that poor mechanic and the night guard. If you were the spirit of a dead child trapped in a rotting animatronic, you'd be pretty upset too, but being forced into decorative costumes does not alleviate any of that pent up frustration. 

So around this time of year, night guards tend to..."quit" their jobs fairly often.

Speaking of night guards, Mike Schmidt casually flips through the cameras, sighing and thinking of home. He wanted to visit his parents this year for Christmas—he hadn't seen them since he moved out of state years ago, but in this kind of dead end job, it isn't as if he can afford plane tickets. So instead of lingering for too long on what is little more than a pipe dream anyways, Mike decides it would be in his best interest to make sure Bonnie and Chica aren't lurking nearby.

Tap. Tap. Tap...No sign of the blue bunny or the damned duck anywhere.

The edge of his vision begins to flicker. Tap. Tap. Tap—

**IT'S ME.**

Mike shrieks, sweat pouring from his brow as he leaps out of his chair and throws the tablet at the slumped mascot costume, nailing Golden Freddy in the head. For a moment, Golden Freddy's eyes flicker—revealing violet, human irises with flecks of blue—before it slowly raises its head.

Now, Mike gets a good look at the bear. 

It is covered in golden tinsel, and it has a tar-hued Santa hat plopped over its normal one. Where it found these items, Mike does not know. (The mechanics don't usually dress Golden Freddy or Foxy on accounts of them being out of use.) Yet all of these small details make it more terrifying than usual, a feat Mike heretofore thought was impossible. He now stands very much corrected.

Then, in a horrifying display, its lower jaw creaks open to reveal a toothless grin, and a high-pitched giggle emanates from its mouth. Its head rotates, a series of snaps echoing from its neck, and it lunges forward, ready to strike. And it pauses beside Mike's left ear, panting at his neck, and whispers in a sing-songy voice, **someone is on the naughty list this year**.

Golden Freddy lets out a migraine-inducing scream, forcing Mike to meet his eyes. Mike tries to look away but to no avail. This is the end of the line, it seems. Mike closes his eyes. 

Best to just get it over with.

But the screaming stops, and there is silence.

Mike squints, reluctant to fully open his eyes, and finds himself still in the office, still alive, and alone. Was that a hallucination? It sure smelt real, what with that decaying breath in his face...Mike leans over, picks up the tablet from where it fell on the ground, and checks the show stage. The three are all there? What the…? Mike shrugs. Honestly, weirder things have happened.

 _...a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


	2. Night Two: Carol of the Bells

_On the second day of Christmas, my boss gave to me..._

Mike didn't expect to have any issues. It is only night two after all. What could possibly go wrong? 

Well, everything, apparently. 

He had been too preoccupied with Bonnie and Chica to notice the starry purple curtain in Pirate Cove slowly sliding open to reveal the mangy fox inside, and by mangy fox, I mean reindeer.

Yes, Foxy, like Golden Freddy, had somehow managed to find itself a costume of its own so as not to be excluded from the festivities. Its antler headband is wrapped in extremely bright LED holiday lights, and they flash enough to trigger an epileptic attack. Its snout sports a glowing, crimson clown nose on the tip, and its hook has been replaced with a makeshift plastic hoof.

You'd think that Mike would notice such an obvious figure, especially one dum-da-dee-dumming at an ungodly loud volume, but Mike is not the most perceptive person. If he were, he probably would've quit his job by now. But, no, Mike does not notice Foxy until it's already in its final sprint down the hall, and in the last few seconds, with sweat pouring from each and every orifice, Mike slams the left door shut. As Foxy bangs on the door, Mike waits, his fingers twitching.

Except Foxy doesn't leave. 

The banging noises and humming get louder and louder, and the power quickly begins to drain. Mike begins to panic, glancing nervously at the silhouette of antlers in the window. 

But then, he starts to hear a pattern. Is that...

“Is that…‘Carol of the Bells’?" Mike stares incredulously at the door. 

You have to be fucking kidding. Foxy is knocking out an entire symphony by himself on that door and rocking it like the Fazbear band never could. Why? Just why?

 **IT'S ME.** ****

Naturally, Golden Freddy decides to join the fun. It begins to "sing" a third part of the song, though it's more of a series of off-pitch screams than an actual song. Mike buries his head in his hands and downs a few Advil from the bottle he keeps in the desk. This is going to take a while.

 _...two pneumatic doors, and a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


	3. Night Three: A Christmas Carol

_On the third day of Christmas, my boss gave to me…_

Frankly, it's been a rough few nights with all of the shenanigans the animatronics have been pulling lately, and Mike is not looking forward to tonight in the slightest. Realistically, what can he expect? 

Two nights thus far, he's been harassed with holiday cheer by his charges. 

Two nights thus far, he's somehow managed not to die, but that doesn't mean he won't die tonight. 

He might not even make it to Christmas.

Shoulders sagging, Mike collapses into his chair and lets out a sob, "I hate my life."

Poof! A cloud of smoke—no, is that dust?—fills the small office, and Mike bursts into a coughing fit, choking on the confetti and glitter mixed with the grime. He sneezes, rubbing his nose and his watery eyes, and looks up, searching for the source of the odd substance.

 **IT'S ME**.

He really should've guessed.

Golden Freddy clears its throat and says, **tonight you shall be visited by spirits three, whose guidance may set you free. listen to their words carefully, or you will cursed beeeeeeeee…**

Then, in another poof of smoke that leaves Mike gagging, it disappears, leaving Mike to his devices. He takes a deep breath, fanning away the sparkly smoke. Oh joy. This can't possibly end well.

"Gorsh, hello there, Mike!" A mechanical voice says from the left. 

Mike screams and slams the door shut, glaring at the blue bunny in the window. "Hyuk! That's not a very nice thing to do to your ol' pal Bonnie! Just be a good boy and let me in, won't you, ol' sport?"

"You," Mike begins, voice trembling, "are not my pal. You try to kill me every night. That definitely disqualifies you from friendship and—oh, fuck. I'm talking to a robot. I've finally lost it, haven't I?" 

"Now that's a naughty word, hyuk! You're a naughty, naughty boy Mikey, don't you know? And since you're on the naughty list, you ought to know what happens to those that don't clear their name— **THeY aRe aLL GuTTeD LiKe PiGS!** " Bonnie explains, grinning and bouncing in place.

"Uh…" Mike trails off, unsure of how to respond to...that.

"If you won't let me in, then come out. We won't attack you. Not tonight. It's almost Christmas after all! That would sure put a damper on things around here, hyuk!"

"I don't think so." That doesn't sound safe. Not. At. All.

"That wasn't a choice, pal." And in that moment, all of the lights go out. The fan slithers to a halt. The Monitor is on—it still displays an 80% charge. So what on earth…? 

Mike freezes, realization dawning upon him. They manually cut the generator.

The doors slide open, and Bonnie grabs Mike around the waste, tossing him over its shoulder and dragging him out to the show stage kicking and screaming.

Bonnie sighs and sets Mike down, still holding him by the wrist so he can't flee. 

"Gorsh! You're a really loud one, hyuk!" 

Mike whimpers in response, really wishing that he could feel his hand right about now.

Bonnie shakes its head and points at the garland-covered stage with his free hand. "Do you remember when you were a lil' one. You used to watch us all day—never got tokens or played arcade games or talked to the other kids. You'd just sit under that table there and cry. I was the only one you'd speak to—and you'd only do that every now and then. What happened to that quiet child?"

By now, Mike can see that Bonnie has mistaken him for someone else, another Michael it seems, since he only moved out here a decade or so ago to attend college, but he doesn't speak up. 

What if Bonnie loses its patience and kills him? It's clearly better to play along with its little game.

So with no other options, Mike mutely nods. Bonnie continues, "Your brother never forgave himself, though I always thought you'd have forgiven him...such a kind child...but now, I'm not so sure."

Before Mike can respond, Bonnie interrupts, "Gorsh! I've wasted too much time! I need to get you over to Chica, hyuk!" So Bonnie grabs Mike around the waist again, tosses him over its shoulder, and drags him off to the kitchen. He doesn't protest this time, quietly considering the new information.

"There you are, Bon-Bon! I'll take it from here," Chica chirps upon the duo's entrance. Bonnie drops Mike, salutes, and marches away, humming a holiday tune under his breath.

Mike, meanwhile, stares in absolute awe at the mysterious kitchen he's never had the opportunity to see. It is large, with smooth, metallic surfaces and a low chill emanating from the freezer. The ovens illuminate the dark from with a soft glow, softly slicing through the wintery air.

More wondrous, however, are the cakes and cookies ornamenting each and every surface of the room—fruit cake, tree-shaped sugar cookies, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate and vanilla cupcakes adorned with red and green sprinkles, gingerbread, truffles, mint bark, red velvet cake…

Mike hurries to wipe away the dribble of drool sliding down his chin. It smells like grandmother and deliciousness. Chica giggles at this, covering its mouth and smiling. White pinpricks twinkle in her eyes. "These are for the annual Christmas party. It's a tradition—everyone gets each other gifts. Of course, these are just to look at since we can't actually eat, but management doesn't complain."

Chica winks and says, **"NoT THaT You'LL LiVe LoNG eNouGH To TaSTe aNY oF THeM!** " Mike backs away from it, shaken, but Chica just laughs. "Well, that's only if the course of events doesn't change. Say," it pauses, tilting its head, "if you were locked in a room with a furnace, five doors with one child behind each one, and five keys but you could only rescue one child, what would you do?"

After a long silence, Mike replies, "...I'd call for help."

"What?" Chica takes a few steps back, joints groaning and fingers twitching.

"If I can only help one child, then surely there must be someone else who can help the others.”

"There may be hope for you. So," Chica begins, leading Mike to the door. "Are you ready for Freddy?"

"Oh no—" Mike is grabbed by the collar and slowly dragged away as the sound of Toreador March fills the area. He begins to sob as he releases where he's being taken, and upon entering the backstage area, Freddy tosses him across the room and stands in the doorway, crossing its arms.

"Hello there, friend. It's been too long," Freddy chuckles, but it is clearly not amused. 

Mike slithers back into a corner, pressing himself against the wall and glancing around for a makeshift weapon. There is nothing in sight, so he focuses instead on the blood rushing in his ears.

This is it. There is no escape from this one.

Freddy says, "Since it's you, Bonnie would like me to be merciful, but I'm not so lenient. There are some things that simply can't be forgiven, and you... **You aLWaYS CoMe BaCK, DoN'T You?** " Freddy growls, its lullaby faltering and reverting to an even more ominous static.

Mike tries to speak but is glared into silence by the rather threatening bear, who continues, "This is your last chance to repent. If you have anything to say, say it now."

"Repent?" Mike knows it's inappropriate, but he can't help but let out a long laugh. "Who is it that you think I am? Because I was born and raised in Colorado, not Utah, and I had never set foot in a Freddy's before finding this job. I refuse to be held accountable for the mistakes of someone else. I don't know who your Mikey is or what it is that you think I've done, but that's not me."

"Wrong answer." Freddy slowly approaches, and Mike lets out another hysterical laugh. 

"That's what I thought you'd say," he says. Then, closing his eyes, he waits for the finishing blow.

Ding, dong, ding, dong. Ding, dong, ding, dong.

Mike raises his head. Six? He's made it to six. There is a series of muttered grumbles and the pounding of animatronic feet. He peaks open his eyes. He's made it. He's made it! 

Mike grins, kisses the ground, and saunters back to the office, gathering his things.

On his way out, Mike pauses in front of the three animatronics on the stage. 

Then, he says, "I'm not him," and leaves.

Mike pretends not to notice the pitch black eyes following his movements as he does so, instead choosing to hum a festive tune. "Tis the season to be jolly…"

 _...three band members, two pneumatic doors, and a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


	4. Chapter 4

_On the fourth day of Christmas, my boss gave to me…_

The fourth night is a night of mourning. As the band roams the halls and he slams the doors in their faces, Mike listens quietly to the voice of a dear colleague, the one person that understands, die.

"Hello, hello? Hey! Hey, wow, day 4. I knew you could do it."

As the weekly tape begins to roll, Mike chokes slightly. He doesn't want to hear this. It's best to focus on the job. The phone calls are distracting enough as it is anyways, but as he moves to hang up on the automated calls as he always does, he pauses. This...He can't. He just can't.

"Uh, hey, listen, I may not be around to send you a message tomorrow. It's-It's been a bad night here for me. Um, I-I'm kinda glad that I recorded my messages for you, uh, when I did."

Mike grits his teeth, punching the left door as it closes and earning for himself a wonderful row of bloody knuckles. Bonnie backs away from the doorway, watching through the window with concern.

"Uh, hey, do me a favor. Maybe sometime, uh, you could check inside those suits in the back room? I'm gonna to try to hold out until someone checks. Maybe it won't be so bad. Uh, I-I-I-I always wondered what was in all those empty heads back there."

Soon, Chica and Freddy are also watching from the right window, the power slowly dwindling. All they can do is watch as Mike slams his fist against his desk, ripping at his hair and sobbing. 

“Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it…”

"You know...oh, no—"

A loud animatronic screech echoes through the halls. Never before had the band ever heard this tape, and Mike's violent sobs make them all fall silent. For a moment, there is only static.

Then, a voice asks gently:

**it's...me?**

Mike glances at the monitor and banishes Golden Freddy from the room. He wants to be alone.

 _...four phone calls, three band members, two pneumatic doors, and a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


	5. Night Five: Nightmare Before Christmas

_On the fifth day of Christmas, my boss gave to me…_

Mike coughs into his scarf, struggling to breathe. Unfortunately, at Freddy's, there are no sick days. There are only pink slips, so Mike decided it would be best to just go to work. 

That was his first mistake.

His second mistake was underestimating Foxy. See, the festive reindeer friend had been rather tame for the past few nights, but tonight, it is open season on security guards.

So Foxy is there, still banging out "Carol of the Bells," on his door and making Mike's fever-induced migraine worse than it was. Mike groans, pressing his forehead against the cool, wooden desk.

Mike coughs again into his coat, shivers coursing down his spine. He can't decide whether he's hot or cold, and he's not entirely sure that it matters. All he wants is to be anywhere else but here.

Thus, when the mangy fox makes its next run for the door, Mike is too delirious to notice its entrance, babbling nonsense and staring off into the distance at something only he can see.

Foxy pauses. It's not a fair game if the other player is too sick to participate, but Freddy will be mad if it doesn't do its job. It got into the office, after all. That's winning, fair and square.

Before Foxy can finish debating:

 **IT'S ME**.

Golden Freddy grabs Foxy by the shoulders and hurls it back out into the hall before slamming the doors and pressing its face against Mike's with a big grin.

Mike's eyelids flicker open, and he lets out a low groan, eyes focusing momentarily on the figure before him. Mike screams and lunges for the monitor, quickly vanquishing the demonic creature. 

Focus, Mike! Focus!

Shuddering at the close call, Mike forces himself to stay awake for the rest of the night, surviving to go home and fall into a deep nightmare in which Golden Freddy grows devil horns and chases Mike around the pizzeria, poking him with a pitchfork. Never again will he ever sleep on the job.

 _...five nights in hell, four phone calls, three band members, two pneumatic doors, and a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


	6. Night Six: Jingle Bell Time

_On the sixth day of Christmas, my boss gave to me…_

At midnight, Mike barely makes it in the door in time, sprinting to the office with Bonnie hot on his tail. The cold meds had made him oversleep, though he certainly feels much better now than he did last night. Regardless, the night shift at Freddy's is not the kind of job you want to be late to.

Out of breath and shaking, he plops down in his chair just as the night begins, choking on phlegm. 

It could be worse. He could be dead. 

Satisfied, Mike checks the cameras and...yup, everyone is gone. This is going to be a long night.

At one o'clock, Mike finds himself yelling: "Oh my god, Foxy, if you do not stop banging that fucking song on my door, I will find a crowbar and take you apart myself!"

"I dare ye!" Foxy shrieks in reply, huffing and stomping back to his cove. 

The boy just doesn't know how to get into the holiday spirit.

At two o'clock, Chica wanders over to the right door, dangling mistletoe above its head. Mike stares at it for a moment, shakes his head, and presses the door button. 

_SLAM!_

No. 

Just, no.

At three o'clock, Freddy begins to perform a tap dance solo on the show stage with a literal candy cane to the tune of "Lollipop." Mike decides it's best just not to ask. He doesn't want to know. 

At four o'clock, Bonnie drags its guitar and an amp out to the left hall and plays "All I Want for Christmas" outside of Mike's door, shrieking the final "is youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.”

Mike shudders. That is...a bit too on the nose.

At five o'clock, **IT'S ME**. 

“Fucking ghost bear, fucking…” Mike mumbles under his breath, glaring at his monitor.

At six o'clock, a grandfather clock chimes in the distance, and Mike goes home for a nice nap and lots and lots of meds.

 _...six hour shifts, five nights in hell, four phone calls, three band members, two pneumatic doors, and a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


	7. Night Seven: Five Months of Bills

_On the seventh day of Christmas, my boss gave to me_

Mike stares at his paycheck in abject horror. $120.00? $120.00! 

Where is his damn overtime pay? And he earns more than four bucks an hour! What the hell?

Mike looks up at his smiling boss, then back at the paycheck, and then back at his boss.

"You have to be kidding me," he growls, left eye twitching uncontrollably.

"You take it or you leave it, Mr. Schmidt." Mike's boss is a rotund man in a light-up Christmas sweater so ugly that it deserves a yo momma joke.

"Fine," Mike says. "Fine." The boss grins maliciously and immediately kicks Mike out of his office.

Mike’s boss will regret that.

The next day, the boss finds an earless Bonnie head with red fluid oozing all over his paperwork and nearly faints from the shock. It isn't until later that the janitorial crew arrives that he learns there are no brains plopped on his desk, and Mike had simply discovered the kitchen’s ketchup packets.

Revenge is sweet.

 _...seven bucks under minimum wage, six hour shifts, five nights in hell, four phone calls, three band members, two pneumatic doors, and a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


	8. Night Eight: Give Gifts, Give Life

_On the eighth day of Christmas, my boss gave to me…_

When Mike gets to work, recovered from his illness at last, he is horrified to find himself in another situation altogether: a note from his boss. As he reads, his stomach drops further and further.

There was a power outage during the day, and the backup generator hasn't been refueled.

When Mike checks the tablet, he finds that all of eight percent has been left for him.

This is going to be a rough night, so with no other options, Mike gathers anything he may need and searches for a place to hide. Realistically, the office simply won't work. The only place he can honestly think of is the men's restroom, which seems to be overlooked for the most part, so he ducks into the bathroom hall with the monitor in hand and heads toward the door.

But then Mike notices something. 

There is another door at the end of the hall. It's normally locked, but not tonight, for whatever reason. Mike steps closer, glancing around, and steps inside, quietly closing the door behind him.

Why had he never noticed this place before? In one corner, a decaying rabbit animatronic sits hunched over, motionless. It seems off somehow, so Mike keeps his distance, instead plopping himself down on a locked box in the opposite corner and carefully eyeing the odd bunny.

Wait, had it just moved? 

Mike honestly isn't sure, so he shrugs and goes back to watching the cameras with what little power he has left. Weirdly enough, the other animatronics don't seem to be looking for him. Rather, all five of them are gathered in a circle in the dining area and are...exchanging gifts?

Mike sighs and begins to talk, more to himself than the animatronic, but to talk nonetheless. "It must suck to be left out of the party like that. I get it though. I wanted to go back to my family this year, but I'm a bit strapped for cash, and it just didn't end up happening. I wish I could see them."

Okay, that time, Mike is positive that it moved.

Mike scoots slowly toward the door, not wanting to set it off. The last thing he needs is to die back here where no one will find his body. At the very least, Mike doesn't want to be wrapped and put in a wooden box under a tree this year, though at Freddy's, that's a lot to ask for.

"I can't even afford to send them gifts. It's the stamps—postage is ridiculous these days. And even if I could, it isn't as if I could afford to get them gifts in the first place. If I were younger, I could just draw them something for the fridge or whatever. Getting old is really annoying, eh?"

...It is still. In fact, it seems to have retreated slightly. Good. 

Mike keeps scooting.

"I remember when I used to wake up my parents at the crack of dawn to open presents. These days, I'm just trying to stay alive until dawn. And I still don't know why I come back every night."

Oh no, it's much closer this time. This is bad. This is very, very bad.

"That's a lie. I know exactly why I always come back. No one else will hire me. God, I should've majored in something less useless than Philosophy. It's like what one of my roommates used to say: I studied Plato and now I'm working at a place that serves Platos of food. Funny, right?"

He pauses, thinking, watching. No movement this time.

"No, it's actually very unfunny, now that I think about it. And I hated that guy. He had dandruff."

Mike's almost at the door now. He's so close. The knob is digging into his back.

"welligottagonowbye," Mike yells, ripping open the door and hurriedly slamming it shut behind him. He holds it closed, holding his breath just as tightly. After a few moments, there is a click. 

Mike jiggles the knob. It seems to be locked from the inside.

Mike relaxes and then tries to sneak down the hall to the bathroom.

 **IT'S ME**. 

Golden Freddy pops into existence to halt his stealthy stroll down the hallway. Mike turns to run.

"Gorsh!" Bonnie exclaims, a heavy hand clamping his shoulder. "There you are, Mikey! **We HaTe You aND HoPe You Die** , but we didn't want to leave you out of the party, so we got you a...gift!"

"Uh…" Mike replies, nervously looking the purple rabbit up and down. "Thanks?"

"Here you go! Have a nice evening, hyuk!" 

Golden Freddy disappears and Bonnie wanders off again.

Mike hurries down the hall and locks himself into a stall in the bathroom, waiting for morning. He stares at the gift in his lap for a bit and then glances around. He might as well…

As quietly as he can, Mike tears open the wrapping paper to reveal a stack of newspaper clippings. With nothing better to do, Mike begins to read.

 _...eight percent power, seven bucks under minimum wage, six hour shifts, five nights in hell, four phone calls, three band members, two pneumatic doors, and a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


	9. Night Nine: The Bite of 1987

_On the ninth day of Christmas, my boss gave to me…_

Mike returns tonight in search for answers. 

The newspaper articles explained a lot, but he's still left with one nagging question: Who caused the Bite of '87? Phone Guy mentioned in one of his recordings, but there was never any real explanation for the incident. And who got hurt? And what exactly happened after that?

Mike tried researching online, in the library...Hell! He even snuck into his boss's files, but all he found there were some old blueprints. So, with these things in mind, Mike goes out in search of answers, arriving early to the pizzeria so that he can sit down and have a nice long chat with the animatronics.

Mike pulls up a chair beside the show stage and presses his fingertips together, biting his upper lip.

"So I read the articles. Thank you. I think I understand a bit more now...but I still have something to ask, something that just doesn't make any sense to me. Feel free to not to respond if you don't want to answer. I understand. These things are difficult, but what happened in 1987?"

For a few moments, there is silence. Mike sighs. "Alright. I guess I'll just go back to the office now and we can go back to our fucked up game of tag. Goodn—"

"It is not our place to tell, night guard," Freddy growls, eyes darkening. Bonnie and Chica nod their agreement.

Then, from behind, there is a familiar, intrusive thought:

 **it was me**.

Mike cranes his neck to face the despondent bear behind him. 

Golden Freddy refuses to meet his eyes, shoulders slumped and grin fading.

**they put the kid in my mouth...it was the programming...there was NoTHiNG i CouLD Do To SToP iT...they put MIKEY in my mouth…**

The bear hiccups, oily tears racing down its cheeks. Suddenly, Freddy leaps from the stage and slams Mike into the back wall, furious. There is a loud crack, and Mike is still.

**FREDDY!**

"He deserved it for making you cry."

**it wasn't his fault either.**

"Mikey? Mikey?" Bonnie and Chica cry out, horrified. 

Mike may not be their Mikey, but that didn't make him any less of a part of the Fazbear family.

No one finds Mike until morning when the manager arrives.

 _...nineteen eighty-seven, eight percent power, seven bucks under minimum wage, six hour shifts, five nights in hell, four phone calls, three band members, two pneumatic doors, and a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


	10. Night Ten: The Midnight Clear

_On the tenth day of Christmas, my boss gave to me…_

"Mr. Schmidt, it seems you have fractured a total of ten bones: several ribs, a few vertebrae, your scapula, your cranium, and your humerus. Luckily, they are all very minor fractures, though your concussion is rather concerning. We're going to hold you for twenty-four more hours, just in case, but after that, you should be free to go so long as you take your prescription as instructed."

"Alright."

So exactly twenty-four hours later, Mike finds himself at the very location that started this mess with a bag slung over his back. He can't work tonight. He has specific orders from his doctor not to

Instead, Mike's doing something unimaginable.

He's delivering presents.

His first stop is the show stage where he sets a carefully wrapped gift down before each animatronic, each white package decorated in colorful ribbon, and refuses to meet Freddy's eyes. He makes sure he winces and clutches his throbbing back as he bends over. Might as well dig the knife in a little bit. 

After all, what good has Freddy ever done for him?

Then, Mike drops in at Pirate Cove, sliding Foxy's gift under the purple curtain. Afterwards, he makes his way over to the west hall corner, placing the final gift beneath the Freddy poster.

On his way out of the location, Mike pauses, glancing at the bathrooms. 

Mike hadn't found something for that weird rabbit, but...he quickly ducks into the office and rifles through the desk drawers. He recalls something that may suit the enigmatic sixth animatronic. Then, he slides the gift under the safe room door and leaves without a word, going home to pass out on his couch with his painkillers in hand while Christmas specials play on the local TV station.

That evening, five animatronics gather once again in the dining area, bent over the mysterious gifts.

"Gorsh! I don't think a night guard has ever been this nice to us before!" Bonnie exclaims, eyes glimmering with anticipation. Freddy huffs, arms crossed. Not put off by the bear's mood, Bonnie rips away the paper to reveal a small jar of guitar picks and a brand new tuner. 

Bonnie yelps with delight and immediately rushes off to find its guitar, excited.

"Alrights, it's my turn now," Chica proclaims, eagerly tearing at the ribbon with her teeth. It's a copy of _Mastering the Art of French Cooking_ by Julia Child. "Oh my goodness! How did he even know I wanted this?" Thus, it runs off to the kitchen to scour the pantry for ingredients.

"You can go, Foxy," Freddy says. It doesn't want any of that man's gifts. He is a killer after all, just like the rest of the purple men. This...gift-giving does not redeem him in the slightest.

"Yar, yar, yar," Foxy replies, rolling its eyes. Freddy can be so stubborn sometimes. 

Foxy opens the box, peaks into the top, gasps, and closes the gift once more, carrying it off to its smaller stage without sharing it with the rest of its companions. Foxy doesn't know just how Mike found out about this, but it is sure as hell making sure that no one else does.

"...Okay?" Freddy says, confused. Foxy has always been a bit...strange, so...whatever.

Golden Freddy opens its present next. It knows that Freddy would skip its turn again anyways, so it isn't as if it would be upset about this. But what is inside brings Golden Freddy to tears once more.

**it's...me…?**

It's an old fashioned Fredbear plushie, the kind with the purple hat and bowtie. 

They had been discontinued so long ago! How? 

But it's not just any version of the bear. No, Golden Freddy recognizes this one. This is Mikey's bear. It even has the stain on the side from that time Mikey's older brother dumped it into a puddle...

Swallowing, Golden Freddy grabs the plushie in its arms and teleports away, leaving Freddy alone.

And in its gift is a locket. In one half of the locket, a photo of the five animatronics back from the good old days when everyone was still operational sits nestled in the cold metal. In the other half, there is a photo of five hopeful children who never got to realize the future they dreamed of.

Freddy chokes. No, no. This is the night guard. It can't forget that it is the night guard...but the rational side of the animatronic reminds it that Mike is a thoughtful man. And as a grandfather clock in the distant cries midnight, it is clear: Mike isn't the man they've been looking for.

Two rooms away, behind a locked door, a rotting bunny stares at a child's picture, an old picture—one it hasn't seen in many, many years. In crayon, a yellow rabbit and a yellow bear hold hands and sing. The animatronic laughs softly and slowly begins to rip the drawing to shreds.

"They hate me...They hate me not...They hate me...They hate me not...They hate me…"

 _...ten broken bones, nineteen eighty-seven, eight percent power, seven bucks under minimum wage, six hour shifts, five nights in hell, four phone calls, three band members, two pneumatic doors, and a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


	11. Night Eleven: War is Over

_On the eleventh day of Christmas, my boss gave to me…_

Mike finds himself bent over the security cameras and longing for home. It's Christmas Eve, and he'd rather be resting. His head is ringing, and oddly enough, he hasn't seen anything at all. There have been no hallucinations, no confrontations with the animatronics—just quiet. Thus, he's been frantically checking the cameras and trying to figure out why no one has approached the doors.

Then, at about two in the morning, an era song begins to emanate from the show stage.

" **SiLeNT NiGHT, HoLY NiGHT...aLL iS CaLM, aLL iS BRiGHT…** " 

Mike watches as the five animatronics gather, singing together. Freddy conducts with its right hand, smiling for perhaps the first time that Mike knows of. Not long after the impromptu choir, Freddy trots down the east hall and slips an envelope under the closed door. It is addressed to him. 

Inside, there is a card, or rather, a folded piece of paper, and in childish writing, crayon is smudged to form the words: **SoRRY, THaNK You, MeRRY CHRiSTMaS, TRuCe?**

To this, Mike responds by checking each camera one by one, opening his doors, and nervously wandering out to the show stage. He'd like to see an end to all of this killing. It needs to stop. But in the time that it took him to creep down the hall, it had all gone to hell, like it often does at Freddy's.

See, in that minute or so, Springtrap had decided to come out and play.

" **Round yon Virgin, Mother and CHiLD** ," a deep voice proclaims, laughter ringing through the halls. Chica lets out a final scream as Springtrap rips it to shreds. 

Enraged, Bonnie launches itself at the attacker, only for its endoskeleton to be ripped out in one fluid motion and cast aside. The lights leave both of their eyes as oil oozes into the carpet.

Mike glances around for anything that could possibly help them, but there is nothing he can do.

Freddy throws itself at Springtrap, pulling it into a hold and nodding at Mike over its shoulder. Mike hurries down the hall to the office, intending to lock himself in there for the rest of the night.

Then, Mike pauses.

These are the animatronics that he (kind of) befriended. He can't just sit there and watch this. 

No, Mike needs to do something to help, anything at all!

By the time Mike resolves his internal dilemma and rushes back to aid the lead singer of the Fazbear gang, it is too late. Freddy lies, beheaded and sparking from every joint, in the oil of his crew.

Then, the rabbit slowly turns on him, a smile growing on its bloodstained lips. 

Mike takes a step back.

"Haven't you done enough?" Mike asks, voice shaking.

This was evidently the wrong thing to say, as Springtrap then immediately lunges at Mike, bloodthirst written in its eyes, but before it can lay a finger on the beloved night guard, something long and sharp pierces through its stuffing, and the scent of rotting flesh fills the air. Springtrap falls forward, clutching its midsection, as Foxy slams its foot into the wound, forcing the rabbit to the ground.

"Behave," Foxy growls, drawing its brand new sword from the rabbit's back. 

Foxy turns and faces Mike. "I didn't think this thing would be so useful, aye?"

"Will the others...Will they be okay?" Mike asks, eyeing the corpses piled on the carpet.

"...It'll, It'll be fine." Foxy's voice box trembles and cracks. "The mechanics w-will put them back together, and life w-will go on—" Springtrap kicks out his legs, knocking Foxy to the floor and grabbing its sword, slashing the fox cleanly in half. The sword breaks, its blade snapped from having sliced through an endoskeleton, and leaves a jagged tip to glint in the dim light of the restaurant.

Then, Springtrap rises, smirking at the destruction around it.

" **Holy infant so TeNDeR and MiLD** ," it sings, slowly approaching Mike.

Mike does not stand down. Instead, he begins to speak:

"So you'll end this just how it started, with an act of unspeakable violence?" Mike shakes his head. "I thought you just wanted this to end. And as far as I can see it, there are two ways this can go."

Springtrap pauses, tilting its head.

Mike continues, "You can kill me, cause the restaurant to be shut down, and be left here to rot or maybe be destroyed in the demolition. Either way, it's a long, slow, painful death."

Springtrap makes no move to attack.

"Your other option is that I disable you. I will make it fast, swift, and it is more mercy than you probably deserve, but I think they'd just want you gone at this point. Let me end this nightmare."

There is silence. 

Then, Springtrap sits down, weakly casting aside the sword, and holds up its arms in surrender. Mike carefully approaches, taking up the sword himself and moving behind the animatronic.

There is a wire in the neck, one that when destroyed would end the damned rabbit's suffering. He found blueprints when researching the Bite of 1987, and Springtrap should be no exception. Mike digs through several layers of rotting flesh, cringing at the black blood staining his sweaty palms, and clasps his hand around the wire, pulling the cord into better light.

Then, Mike raises the sword.

Softly, Springtrap begins to sing in order to distract itself from the inevitably before it: " **SLeeP iN HeaVeNLY PeaCe...SLeeP iN HeaVeNLY Pe** —" It doesn't get to finish its song before the sword swings down upon it. A mindless tangle of metal and flesh collapses against the tile.

Mike stares at his bloody hands and lets out a loud curse, trembling from the adrenaline. He...He...with all of those fancy security cameras, he still couldn't do his one job. He couldn't keep those animatronics safe. With that, Mike stands and goes to the bathroom to wash his hands. 

There is something that must be done before he leaves.

 _...eleven security cameras, ten broken bones, nineteen eighty-seven, eight percent power, seven bucks under minimum wage, six hour shifts, five nights in hell, four phone calls, three band members, two pneumatic doors, and a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


	12. Night Twelve: No Place Like Home

_On the twelfth day of Christmas, my boss gave to me…_

Golden Freddy finds Mike in the safe room, staring at the metal box. 

Mike had broken off the padlock with the remains of the sword and placed within it those pieces of scrap metal as well as Bonnie's picks and tuner, Chica's cookbook, and Freddy's locket.

**hey...it's me…**

Mike doesn't move, instead giving the bear a terse nod. 

Where was their incorporeal companion when they needed it most? No matter. Mike doesn't have any energy left to be angry. It isn't as if he is sad, either. He's not entirely sure what to feel now, but he had invested himself in trying to better his workplace for everyone, and now this happened…

**i'm here to say goodbye. i'm...ready to move on. there's nothing left for me here.**

Mike turns to face his coworker, nodding. He isn't surprised.

**here.**

Mike takes the plushie offered him and places it in the box before snapping it shut once more.

**thank you and goodbye.**

Mike does not watch as Golden Freddy fades away for the last time. 

When it has passed, Mike turns, lugging the box over his shoulder and wincing at the pain, and leaves in his car. He drives for miles, it seems, in no particular direction, until he finds himself an empty bridge over a murky river, the moon barely reflecting off its surface.

There, Mike tosses the box into the murky waters below and waits for the sun to rise.

Mike could've had a different job, a safer one maybe. 

He could've moved cities and started over with his life. He could've stayed home like a bum, burning through his savings. He could've done small jobs here and there for people. He could've become an author, told people his story and passed it off as fiction while using a pseudonym.

Mike could've gone back to college. 

He could've got caught up in the gangs of his shitty neighborhood. He could've married wealthy, raised children instead of working. He could've ended up in a homeless shelter. He could've volunteered somewhere and made connections with people who could potentially help him.

Mike could've killed himself instead of working there again.

Mike could've gone home for Christmas, like he wanted to in the first place.

And while he'd rather have done any of those things, to have never gone back to Freddy's, Mike doesn't regret his time there.

So when, at around seven or so, Mike gets a call from his boss, congratulating him for managing to get himself fired on Christmas, he doesn't regret "tampering with the animatronics" either. Instead, he hangs up and drives home so that he can pack his things and head back out as soon as possible.

Mike might not be able to afford plane tickets, but he can sure as hell drive himself out to his parents' house—back home—in time for Christmas.

 _...twelve places I'd rather be, eleven security cameras, ten broken bones, nineteen eighty-seven, eight percent power, seven bucks under minimum wage, six hour shifts, five nights in hell, four phone calls, three band members, two pneumatic doors, and a phantom Fredbear screeching,_ **_IT'S ME_** _._


End file.
